"In a second he was alert and awake; the next instant he found himself at the panel, reaching tremulously for the concealed spring. "At last he found it; the panel shot back, and the prince, after one searching glance, stood transfixed and uttered a cry of wondering despair. "'The gleaming hoard still shot its varied lightnings. The royal sapphire still crowned its priceless apex. To his starting eyes his treasure was not a whit diminished, but directly in front, and at the base of the precious heap, lay as many as would make a heaping handful of pebbles." As the Sepoy reached this startling climax in his recital, the even modulations of his voice ceased abruptly. Raikes, missing the somnolent monotone, looked up quickly. The eyes of the Sepoy were fixed upon him with a gleam in his glance not unlike that of the sapphire upon which the miser had been engaged during the whole of this singular narrative. "That is a weird tale," he said at last. "Why do you pause at such a point? What is the conclusion?" "That is some distance away yet," replied the Sepoy. "If you care to continue, I will resume the thread at this time to-morrow evening." "Very well," answered Raikes with some impatience, "I will be here. I must, at least, congratulate you upon your observance of the proprieties in tale-telling; you manage to pause at the proper places." "You are curious, then, to hear the rest?" "Naturally," replied Raikes, with the sour candor which distinguished him. "The situation you describe I can appreciate--the loser confronted with his loss--and I am to conjecture his attitude until to-morrow night. Very well, I bid you good evening," and Raikes, with a curt inclination of the head, which made a travesty of his intention to be courteous, vanished through the doorway. * * * * * (The continuation of this remarkable story will be found on Dickey Series B, which may be bought from almost any haberdasher.) * * * * * As Dennis reached this announcement his head throbbed violently. He had raced so apace with the movement of the tale that he had not remarked, in his absorption, an unfamiliar congestion about the base of his brain. Directly, however, he was convinced of its disagreeable presence when this abrupt conclusion, which he had come to expect at the end of each bosom, materialized to his irritated anticipation. He was no longer inclined to admire the calculating genius of the italicized phrase. A temperance lecture was aching its way through his head. His conscience seemed to have decided to reside in the pit of his stomach, and a sense of surrender and defeat humiliated him. His room looked cell-like. The arrow pointing to the fire-escape seemed full of menace. His face, reflected from the dingy glass, had never appeared so ugly and reproachful.